User blog:Frentiza the ferret/Fren's Quest:The Original

Just fer kicks, I'm putting the original draft of my user story up here, but if you want to see the rewrite, check out my blog on the RW (too lazy to put link, sorry)

NOW, ENJOY THE HORRIDNESS OF FIRST DRAFTS.

Prologue:Fateful Night
Fren stumbled through Mossflower Woods, oblivious to the shouts of vermin behind her. She did not know what had made her free those wretched prisoners; was she turning soft? She shook her head and kept running. Fren knew that her father resented her from the day she was born; perhaps he knew that his daughter would turn out to be a goody-two-paws like those soppy woodlanders.

Fren stopped and collapsed, fatigued. Goody-two-paws. That's all she was. A goody-two-paws vermin who didn't belong. And I never will belong, she thought bitterly. I'm different, and I always will be.

Fren scraped up some leaves and moss, creating a makeshift nest on the forest floor. She curled up in it, racked with harsh thoughts. Maybe there was somewhere she really belonged. However, it was not the time to find out where it was.

As Fren slipped deeper into the realm of dreams, she could see a lone figure emerging from the rosy-tinted mists. It was a mouse; handsome, armor-clad, and carrying a magnificent sword far more hefty than any of her father's blades. Though his lips did not move, Fren could hear his words echoing around her head.

To find where ye shall truly belong

First take to the torrents filled with song

Where subterranean wonders lie

Speed you now to seat, the open blue

The dreaded Dark, scourge of the seven

Fear ye not, there find thy brethren

'Neath all Demise, place of despise

Meet the lone, strong of claw and earth

See the stronghold, stripe and longear berth

Hup and two, and hup and two,

A-roaring out for vengeance; here flee you

Thou shall know more, fear ye not,

''When thee meets streamdogs of hidden holt... ''

The mouse warrior stopped there. He pointed his sword at her. "Young Fren, though you were born a vermin, you are seemingly bound for somewhere else; a path of light and shadow." he told her. "But to find if you belong truly in light or shadow, I cannot predict. You must find this for yourself."

With this, the mouse turned around began to fade away slowly. Fren rushed after him in the dusty dream citadel, calling, "Wait! Come back! Who are you? And why do you kno--"

But the mouse had vanished completely, leaving Fren behind. The young ferret could hear brash voices shouting, could feel her back being whipped sore, and could smell something like stew being cooked. She felt the earth trembling beneath her paws and being enveloped with water; rushing, freezing, torrential water threatening to drown her...

Fren awoke with a start. She rubbed her head. What a dream! She turned over and saw that it was less than an hour before sunrise. The young ferret knew that a new life was in store for her, according to the mysterious warrior. But where would she begin? Knowing that she was still a vermin that no one trusted, it would be difficult to ask for help from anyone she found in the woods. She had to work this out on her own.

On her own?

Aye. She was on her own; she was as free as the wind! She could do whatever she wanted without being berated by one of her father's nosy vermin. She did not have to live the harsh life of a hordebeast. Fren smiled blissfully. She lazily romped off to find a decent bite of breakfast.

Chapter One:The Merciless
Drums pounded in the morning air as the horde of Vherdan Kozdru the Merciless marched through Mossflower Woods in search of the prisoners and the Chieftain's only daugther Fren. Vherdan was every inch the warlord; a tall, sinewy, savage ferret with a heart harder than rock and colder than ice. With the Warlord's lust for violence and his inexplicable cruelty, there was nobeast whatsoever who had the courage to defy him, thus giving rise to his nickname 'the Merciless'. Despite this, the Warlord cut a rather impressive figure. Garbed in a plain orange tunic belted by a broad barkcloth belt, a rich silken cloak hung from his square shoulers with a large bronze clasp. He sported a short kilt with tails hanging from it, and finally there were three blades thrust into his belt; a sharp curved scimitar, his trusty armament, a long rapier stolen from an otter holt, and a tiny needle-tipped knife.

He was flanked by Werj the weasel, his right paw, and Sicra the vixen Seer. It was Sicra's predictions that foretold the deserting of Fren; the ferret Chieftain never had a particular interest for his daughter, however this time was an exception. Kozdru was no longer a young ferret. He was into the latter part of his middle seasons, and fretted over who would succeed him when he was gone. Werj sensed his leader's apprehension.

"Chief, yer worried 'bout yer whelp, ain't cha?" he asked.

Vherdan was the type who liked to keep everything to himself. He booted the weasel sprawling. "Worried? Why should I be?" he snapped. "Fren was nought but a little nuisance, a turnfur, a goody-goody from the moment she was spawned. Let that excuse for a vermin perish in her own kindness. She'll learn, when we catch up with her, she will, mark me words!"

Werj gulped and nodded. Vherdan waited for him to stand up, then beckoned to his horde. "I hear them prisoners comes from a place rich in booty, all the plunder ye could lay yer paws on. Redhall Nabby, from the sounds of it, haharr, it sound pretty, don't it?" he announced dramatically. "Once we get hold of that precious Nabby place, all that loot...could be all ours!"

This was greeted by resounding cheers, which echoed throughout the wood and frightened woodbirds out of their nests.

Vherdan Kozdru had spoken!

The early morning sun rode higher into the sky. The three runaways from Redwall Abbey sat beneath a great three-topped oak, munching on the remainder of rations they had. The sable otter yawned and pondered the previous night's events. "Funny ole vermin that'un was, doncha think." he remarked. "Why she'd want to free some Abbey bumpkins like ourselves'll always be a mystery to me."

The male squirrel thoughtfully bit into an oat scone. "Well, mayhaps she was one of them rare vermin. I remember readin' in Abbey School about some ferret called Veil Sixclaw, in far bygone seasons." he told his friend. "Veil was abandoned by the vermin after they attacked Redwall, and raised among goodbeasts. Though he was bad and vanquished later on, he showed some goodness in saving the future Abbess. Aye, rare indeed."

During their flight through Mossflower, the older squirrel had placed his Dibbun sister in a sling across his back. Now he unslung the blanket and let the little squirrel crawl out. She glanced around at her surroundings. "Whereda badbeasties goto?" she asked her brother.

The older squirrel smiled at her. "The bad beasties are gone, Kaira. We're safe."

Kaira's attention wavered. She trundled over to a glade and peered between two bushes. Then she ran back to their makeshift camp in a wobbly gait.

"Bruvver Traf, Rushrn, there be's baddie beasties in tha cweewing!" she called to the otter and the squirrel.

Traf the squirrel jerked to attention immediately. "More bad beasts? Then we'd best see if they mean us any harm. Rushrenn, you stay here with Kaira. I'll go and investigate.

Traf drew a tiny kitchen knife from his belt. He was making his way to the glade when Rushrenn ran up to him and grabbed his shoulder. "I'm comin' with you, mate. Sometimes them vermin ain't as stupid as most." he whispered.

Traf sighed. "So be it." he said. He turned to Kaira. "Stay here, okay? We'll be back."

Kaira nodded vigorously, waving a stick in the air. "Yup yup yup, I sits here and be a good likkle babbie." she replied solemnly. "Iffen them baddiebeasties come, I choppa their tails off!"

Rushrenn chuckled. Traf slowly parted the bushes. He bit his lip at the sight that met him.

Five vermin, three foxes, a stoat, and a rat, were sitting around a diminutive fire, roasting some fish. All were armed with sharp spears, but the thing that Traf was most apprehensive about was the coat-of-arms hanging from each of the spearpoles. The coat-of-arms depicted a ferret standing over the carcass of his slain enemy, holding a scimitar. He'd know that coat-of-arms anywhere. It was the crest of the vermin horde they had escaped from!

The largest fox spat out a fishbone. "I 'eard dat Vherdan's whelp Fren ran off or summat," he said. "And ole Drabet reported them three pris'ners was freed by her too."

The stoat nodded. "Aye, mate, I've heard tell o' that too. I always knew that young Fren wouldn't belong."

A smaller fox turned the spit over the fire. "Ahh, ferget about that dirty trator." he spat. "In fact, right now we ought ter find a straight course to dat Redwall Habbeyplace. The Chief's plannin' on takin' it over. Sez there's booty and lovely vittles aplenty there."

Rushrenn and Traf turned pale. The young ferret wasn't lying. They were going to take over their Abbey! Now they really had to get back; time was of the essence.

Chapter Two:Bad News
Excerpt from the writings of Bloomnyn, Recorder of Redwall Abbey in Mossflower Country.

''The Spring of the Tenacious Deserters is drawing to a close. It makes us all in Redwall Abbey very sad to know that those three youngsters-- Rushrenn, Traf, and little Kaira, are somewhere out there. Goodness knows if they're alright. Now that they've been missing for more than a season, Father Abbot Cohren postponed his Golden Jubilee Feast until their return. But, it is nevertheless a beautiful spring morning and I would be loathe to spend it all behind this desk in this stuffy old gatehouse. All right, for now I shall wash the ink from my paws, and go out and enjoy myself.''

''Signed, Bloomnyn. Recorder of Redwall Abbey in Mossflower Country.''

Bloomnyn sighed and put down her quill pen. The pretty young mouse scrubbed the inkstains from her paws and shuffled out onto the Abbey lawn. The Abbey babes, collectively known as Dibbuns, were laughing and frolicking by the pond. Sister Alyssum the Infirmary Keeper and Brother Whicke were keeping a close eye out for any babe who ventured too close to the pond's edge. Seated on an overturned wheelbarrow was an chubby, aged mouse whose once lustrous brown fur had been completely covered over with silver hairs. Bloomnyn approached the old mouse.

"Abbot Cohren, do you think Rushrenn, Traf, and Kaira are safe?" she asked, seating herself on the grass next to the barrow.

Abbot Cohren smiled sadly at her. "I do hope so, young Bloomnyn." he replied. "Those two scalawags, Traf and Rushrenn--I'm sure they'll manage. I trust they take care of Kaira. Oh, I wish I never put them under Abbot's Report so much! Who knew this would happen."

Bloomnyn patted the Abbot's shoulder. "It isn't your fault, Father. They just wanted their own ways, I suppose."

Suddenly the brash voice of Brother Briar, the hedgehog Gatekeeper, reached their ears. "Beasts at the gate! Look like Rushrenn, Traf, an' Kaira! Open the gates!"

Two sturdy otters heaved the gates open. Sure enough, covered in dirt and panting, stood Rushrenn and Traf at the entrance, Kaira in a sling. Their eyes were wide-and-black-rimmed with fatigue. Sister Alyssum rushed to the trio. Traf collapsed into the dormouse Sister's paws, and Rushrenn signalled for the Abbot.

"Father...Abbot...got...news...bad news...call...the..Council!" he gasped. Abbot Cohren guided Rushrenn to the wheelbarrow and had him sit down. Bloomnyn retrieved the sling from the unconscious Traf's back and cradled Kaira.

Since Rushrenn was in no condition to be moved, the Council of Elders gathered around the wheelbarrow to hear what the young otter had to say.

"Vermin, more'n fourscore, headin' to the Abbey. They're planning on taking everything we've got. I've seen their leader; ferret, big, brawny, ferocious...the Merciless!" he stammered. Then he fell over,out-cold from exhaustion. A gasp rang around the Council.

Traf and Rushrenn were hauled to the Infirmary, when Abbot Cohren called a meeting in Great Hall. Murmurs echoed around, until the Abbot banged his paw on the tabletop, restoring order. He cleared his throat.

"Good Redwallers, as you can see, Traf, Rushrenn, and Kaira have returned to the Abbey after one season. But they have returned with grim news. Rushrenn says that vermin are coming to plague our precious Abbey. He says that the leader is a ferret, but not any ordinary ferret, that is for certain." he announced. He gestured to the Recorder. "Bloomnyn, is there any mention in your records of a ferret called...the Merciless?"

All heads turned towards the young Recorder. Bloomnyn rose from her seat. "Aye, Father, I have. There is this record I came across once, of a small village in the Borderlands. It says that that village was destroyed by a savage horde of vermin, fivescore at least, led by a ferret. An unusually large one at that, vicious, dark-hearted, though finely dressed. His name was Vherdan Kozdru the Merciless, a born killer. At least, that's what I remember. I'll fetch the record; wait here."

With that she dashed to the gatehouse. She returned a moment later holding a thick black-bound tome. She flipped open the yellowing pages.

"Ahem. 'I recall a certain harsh winter, nine seasons back. The Eveningblossom Tribe of the Borderlands was suffering, plagued by famine and disease. Only the fittest made it through the epidemic, and even they were emaciated and weakening. But we never lost hope. We waited, lingering between life and death, for the blessed arrival of springtime and more pleasant days. But, one night, the thing we wanted the least...struck.

"I was awakened by a bloodcurdling scream from the entrance of the Eveningblossom village. Still in my nightshirt I thrust the door open, lantern in paw, and went off to investigate. But the blood froze in my veins when I saw my own brother, lying dead in the snow. There was a long, ugly wound across his chest and his lifeblood spilled like anything, staining the snow red and spreading rapidly. Two other villagers must have heard also, for they rushed out of their cottages with lanterns. One of them stared at my brother's carcass, then looked up at me. "W--Who did this?" he asked. I was about to reply, when the other villager suddenly grabbed her neck, then fell over with an arrow protuding from her throat. I looked up--and saw him.

"He was the biggest, broadest, most evil-looking ferret I had ever laid eyes on. His pointed fangs glistened in the moonlight as he laughed maniacally. He sliced the air with a bloodied scimitar. Beside him stood a sinister weasel, clutching a longbow. "Kneel before the Merciless," he bellowed. "Or join your comrades, squirrel!"

"I was rooted to the spot, terrified beyond my wits. It couldn't be. Vherdan Kozdru the Merciless was known and feared throughout the land. Few met him and lived to tell the tale. I had no--"

"Stop!" came the voice of Abbot Cohren. Bloomnyn stopped reading and slammed the tome closed. "What's wrong, Father?" she said.

Cohren placed both paws on the sides of his head. "It is too much. If that was the fate of that Eveningblossom Tribe, it must not be our fate." he rasped. "If that narrator described him truly we must stop at nothing to prepare our Abbey for this seemingly inevitable invasion. As unsavory as this may sound, it is true."

Apprehensive whispers were exchanged throughout the Redwallers. At the moment, Sister Alyssum stepped into Great Hall.

"Pardon me, Father Abbot," she said. "But Rushrenn and Traf are awake, and they have a tale to relate to whoever may be interested."

Chapter Three: Ambush
Fren sat on the streambank, dabbling her paws in the cool flowing water. She reveled in the serenity of her surroundings; back in the vermin camp, she would not be able to relax in such tranquility. Now she supposed her father's horde would be bumbling around obeying senseless orders, or attacking a tribe of some warrior woodlanders. Fools!

Earlier that morning, Fren managed to raid a woodpigeon's nest and had a good breakfast of eggs. She then bent over the stream and took a good, long drink. Then she stretched out on the streambank.

Suddenly a javelin flew out of nowhere and landed a fraction beside Fren's neck. The young ferret leapt up with a yell of surprise. The bushes surrounding her rustled, then a rasping voice called out.

"Begone, bad one! Begone! Thou art not welcome in my domain!" it gritted.

Fren stopped. "I-I didn't mean to trespass!" she shouted back. "I was just passing by. I'll leave, right now!"

Fren did not wait for the voice to reply. She raced ahead until she was sure that she was beyond range of a javelin. She halted panting, then became aware of a peculiar noise around her. It sounded quite like somebeast singing, mingled with the echo of rushing water.

What was it that the warrior mouse had said? First take to the torrents filled with song. Curious, Fren peered through the bushes.

A vast watermeadow with teeming clumps of bulrushes met her eyes. The sounds of the tributaries that fed the meadow babbling over stones seemed to give out a subtle melody. Long logboats bobbed in the waters, tied to small jetties. But what caught Fren's attention the most was the shouts and hearty laughter coming from an inlet. The inlet appeared to be crowded with small, spiky-furred mouselike creatures wearing multicolored headbands. Their only other clothing were short kilts, with rapiers thrust into the belts. Some were singing in croaking tones, others swigging grog, and a very bulky one sat honing his rapier on a stone.

Fren had seen these creatures before. Her father's horde had encountered them some seasons back. They were called shrews, if she remembered correctly. Guosim shrews, to be exact, short for Guerilla Union Of Shrews In Mossflower. Remembering to stay hidden, she cupped her paws and around her mouth and yelled forth, "Logalogalogalogalooooooooooooooooog!!!"

The reply came in less than a minute. "Logalogalogalogaloooooooooooooooooooooog!!!"

Through the bushes Fren could see a few shrews boarding a logboat and paddling nearer to the bushes. They docked on the bank and searched for the caller.

"Over here, Guosim!" she shouted.

The shrews heard her and turned. Surprised to see a ferret calling them, two of the shrews drew forth two hefty clubs and advanced upon her.

"Stop! Don't harm that vermin!" came the brash voice of the bulky shrew. The Guosim shrews turned towards him. The bulky shrew nodded at Fren. "I know that vermin; daughter of Vherdan, am I right?"

Fren was surprised. "Y-Yes, sir, I-I'm his daughter." she stammered.

The bulky shrew smiled at her. "I've heard of ye before, the different sorta type o' vermin." he remarked. "Yer name's Frentiza or summat, right?"

This made Fren all the more surprised. "Why, yes, I'm Frentiza Kozdru, but my friends just call me Fren--well, if I had any friends, that is."

The shrew nodded briskly. "I'm Log-a-Log Radd, young'un." he told her. Log-a-Log Radd beckoned to the Guosim on the far bank. "Ahoy, bring dat ferret over 'ere, I needs a word with that'un."

Quite hesitantly the shrews led Fren to the logboat and seated her in the stern. They paddled her to the inlet. Fren let her paws run in the cool waters of the tributaries. This was a surprisingly good start to her adventure. But how did that Log-a-Log know so much about her? The last time she had seen the Guosim, she was nought but a season old.

"'Scuse me, miz, but I wouldn't let me paws drift if'n I were you," a rough voice broke into her thoughts. She hurriedly drew her paws out of the water and asked, "How come?"

The shrew that spoke exchanged a secret wink with a mate, which Fren failed to notice. "There be pike aplenty in this 'ere waters," he replied. Fren fished her paws out and waited for the logboat to dock on the inlet. Log-a-Log Radd assisted her onto the inlet. Some shrews hissed at the ferret, and a few stood by, astounded. Log-a-Log nodded to a young male shrew clearing flasks of grog from the makeshift tables.

"That be me son, Tyec." he told her. "Ahoy, son, come o'er here."

Tyec briskly shoved a few more flasks into a bin, then scurried over to his father. He saluted with his rapier. "Salutations, poppa, what ye need doin'?"

Log-a-Log tweaked his son's ear. "Don't call me poppa, that's Log-a-Log to ye!" he scolded. "I need ye to prepare some vittles for me guest 'ere. Make certain that them cooks give 'er some respect."

Tyec looked surprised. "But pop--err--Log-a-Log, she's a ferret!" he blurted out.

Log-a-Log shot him an icy look, which made Tyec dash to the cooks. Fren felt slightly flattered, but she did not like flattery, one of the only true vermin instincts she possessed. Log-a-Log then spoke to her. "I need a word with ye. How come you ain't with yer father's horde?"

Fren was about to answer when the shrew who had been paddling her escort logboat sauntered up. He smiled at Fren--or rather, sneered at her.

"Takin' vermin in, I see." he retorted.

Fren flattened her ears and crept away slowly. She was confronted by Tyec, who was holding a half-empty flask of grog. "Don't mind Talu, he thinks he'd make a better Log-a-Log than me pop." he assured her. "He's been gettin' too big fer his fur lately, better keep an eye on that'un."

Chapter Four: Vherdan's Words
During noontide, Vherdan Kozdru's horde halted, exhausted and hungry from marching all morning. Vherdan watched as his hordebeasts sat on a streambank, cooling their paws and some chewing on wild ransom. "Yer 'ungry, ain't ye?" he asked them, his voice dripping contempt.

A stoat seated by the stream crunched into some ransom, and spit the garlicky-smelling plant out. "Aye Lord, an' our paws be sore from marchin' the morn awa'." he panted.

A smile crept over Vherdan's rough features. "Ah, pore Drabet, yer paws be sore, an' yer 'ungered, and some cheap ransom won't do." he said in a mocking tone. Some hordebeasts began to snicker, and a few stayed silent, knowing their leader's swift mood swings.

Vherdan padded over to Drabet the stoat. "How 'bout some fish, ye like fish, dontcher?" he chided.

Drabet licked his chops. "Aye, Lord, I likes fish." he sighed wistfully.

"Wanna go fishin' then, dear Drabet?"

Quick as a flash Vherdan ran Drabet through, then kicked the stoat's carcass into the stream. Shocked hordebeasts stopped whatever they were doing and stared open-mouthed at the spot where Drabet was seated only moments before.

Vherdan wiped his dripping scimitar on the moss. Then he faced his horde, bristling. "Yer lazy lily-livered toads, if'n ye don't wnat ta wind up like yer mate Drabet, stir yer stumps cos I ain't gonna provide for ye." he snarled. "If yer 'ungry, eat, but it's only now that I'm lettin' ya cos I'm feelin' quite good t'day. After yer stuffed yer stoopid gobs, we march--and real marchin this time! Ye hear me?!"

"Aye aye, Lord!"

Vherdan sighed and sat down beneath a shady willow. The vixen Seer, Sicra, sat down beside him with a large roach on a skewer. She brushed together a pile of dried grass, then struck flint above the pile. A spark flew onto the grass, then Sicra knelt down and blew on the smoldering heap. A tongue of flame leapt into the air and Sicra held the roach over the fire steadily.

"Thou hungry, Lord?" she asked.

Vherdan licked his chops. "I'll have it nice an' crispy, thank thee." he sighed.

Sicra turned the skewer. "Dost thou sorrow for thy daughter?" she pressed the Warlord. "Or are ye doin' well now that she's gone?"

The crafty Seer was the only creature Vherdan trusted most in his horde. "Don't need me whelp no more." he gritted. "For now we should head fer that Redhall Nabbeyplace. I 'ear there's booty aplenty there, an' more luvverly vittles than ye've ever clapped eyes on."

Sicra shook her head. "My predictions told me opposite of your desire, Lord." she replied gravely.

Vherdan bristled. "How so, my loyal Seer?"

Sicra blew on the lightly charred fish. She picked up a large dock leaf on the ground and washed it in the stream. Then she placed the roach on it and served it to the ferret Warlord. Vherdan took the fish gratefully; as he picked off each piece with his knife Sicra explained to him.

The Seer unhooked a pouch from her girdle and emptied it of its contents. She began to pick up her paraphernalia and toss them around. She rubbed her lower jaw, then pointed. "See the four river pebbles lined up, single file? Look," she indicated a bleached fishbone near the fourth pebble. "Four days and nights from today ye shall meet up with an old comrade. Tomorrow, at eventide we march to the shore."

Vherdan spat out a fishbone and wiped his mouth. "The shore?"

Sicra eyed her paraphernalia tentatively. "I'm certain thou hast not overlooked yer life as a corsair," she whispered. "Aye, long seasons ago was that, but I am sure ye remember the Scourge of the Seven Seas?"

Vherdan's eyes widened. "Cap'n Tjearo?! I thought the savage died seasons of seasons ago!"

The vixen scooped up her pebbles and fishbones and placed them back in her pouch. "Ah, but he still lives, Lord. And he needs to see ye; or rather, ye need to see him."

Chapter Five: Precautions
Rushrenn and Traf sat on the edge of their beds in the Infirmary, Rushrenn sipping a bowl of shrimp 'n hotroot soup. Traf was munching on some of the candied chestnuts Sister Alyssum kept for her patients when the door opened. Abbot Cohren, Bloomnyn, Sister Alyssum, and Rushrenn's father, Skipper Jukan, stepped into the Infirmary. Rushrenn leaned over and whispered to his friend, "'Ere come the elders. Bet me tail that they'll ask us 'bout the vermin an' our capture,"

Traf nodded. They waited until the four sat down on their beds. Then Bloomnyn started talking.

"Rushrenn, Traf, now that you are awake I assume you can tell us more about what you experienced, and about this Merciless ferret."

Rushrenn and Traf exhanged a glance, then Traf cleared his throat.

"Remember when Rushrenn, Kaira, and I ran away almost half a season ago? Well,we thought that life beyond the Abbey was more exciting. But a few nights ago when we were wandering the eastern fringes of Mossflower, we were attacked by these two big ugly stoats. It happened very fast, but I saw the flag they bore. It depicted a vermin standing over a dead woodlander. Heartless cretins, the lot of them!" he ranted.

Bloomnyn stifled a sigh. "Please go on."

Traf continued his report. "Anyway, those two hideous stoats dragged us all the way to this clearing, packed with vermin. Some were roasting food over fires, and other stuffing themselves, the pigs. The two stoats hauled us over to their chieftain...the Merciless." he breathed.

Everybeast in the Infirmary held their breaths at the mention of 'the Merciless'. Rushrenn continued the story for his friend. "'E was big, brutal, anything a ruthless leader could be. There was a smaller ferret seated next to him, but she didn't seem like she meant any harm, but ye know ye can never trust vermin. Anyways the big, evil-looking ferret spoke. 'E said to 'is stoat cronies; 'Luvverly brats, ain't they? Bet they comes from dat Redhall Nabbeyplace which we keep on 'earin' 'bout.' Then 'e turned to me and said, 'You, riverdog, wot do ye knows 'bout some place called....Redhall Nabbey?'"

Jukan stiffened. "An' did ye tell 'im, son?" he asked wearily.

Rushrenn shook his head. "No, pater, this is what I tol' the scum; 'I'd rather die than give you spineless curs information on our Abbey!'" he gritted. "Of course, this got the villain's anger up. He slashed me arm wit 'is fancy ole rapier, then drew forth a whiplash and tossed it to 'is stoat cronies. 'Whip 'em,' he said. 'Twenty lashes apiece, till they're bleedin' an' sore! An' when dat's taken care of, bind 'em to a tree an' don't let them 'scape!'

"By the fur and fang, 'twas prob'ly the worst ordeal I 'ad to go through in me life! I could see me life flashin' afore me eyes, an' I think I fainted cause the next thing I knew, I wuz tied to a tree, Traf an' Kaia next to me. We were all bleedin', an' I was starvin'. None of us knew what lay in store fer us the next morn...but it couldn't be anythin' good.

"I wuz discussin' wit me matey Traf 'bout 'scapin' strategies when this liddle ferret gel crept up to us; the same gel seated next to Mr. Merciless. But we were most surprised when the young ferretess freed us and toldus to git back ter the Abbey on the double. We hightailed it outta there faster than ye ken shake a stick--and ran like anything. We stopped the next morn, then Kaira sighted some of the vermin, scouts I'll be bound. As me an' me mate Traf we're eavesdroppin' we 'eard tell dat ole Merciless ferret's comin' to conquer Redwall Abbey."

Silence followed. Skipper Jukan broke it soon enough. "Well, if'n dat Merciless scum be on his way here, I call a council o' war!" he announced. " Me an' me otter crew'll scout Mossflower fer some of our mates livin' in holts, an' some will travel to the shore to look fer some relations there. It'll take 'bout three sunrises to round 'em up, plus we're gonna need the fittest beasties we've got here in the Abbey. What say ye, Father Abbot?"

Abbot Cohren's answer came in a trice. "Permission granted, Skipper. I put al my faith in you that you will be able to make the task in time."

Chapter Six: Fren Tells All
Log-a-Log Radd had his Guosim shrews prepare their cave for the unlikely visitor. Some of the shrews were starting to take a liking to the young ferret, so they obeyed without delay. However, the ambitious Talu stood by, honing his rapier on a stone. Ferrets. They would always be vermin, no matter what some old fogey thought.

Tyec and his friend Diplo escorted Fren into the Guosim's cave, hidden in a swath of bulrushes near the jetty. Fren took in what she saw.

The stone floor was carpeted in soft bank moss, and little hammocks dangled from ceiling cracks. There were a few chairs in a corner, lined with rush-woven cushions. It was a very humble abode but at the same time inviting.

Diplo led the young ferret to a chair and had her sit down. He offered her a flask of grog and scurried to fetch Log-a-Log. When Log-a-Log Radd entered the cave with an older female shrew, Fren stood up and curtsied. The female shrew looked surprised.

"That be one unusual vermin, Radd." she remarked. Log-a-Log Radd nodded and sat down beside Fren. He started talking to her.

"Young Fren, why are you separated from yer pater's horde now? I knew ye were always reluctant to be part of it, but I never imagined ye away from those scalawags."

Fren took a sip of grog and gagged. "Heartless, Log-a-Log, that's what they are; I know it sounds daft but I could never take so much tyranny in one place. So I escaped, but not after I felled two of the bullies. One of my few vermin instincts, y'see." she told him.

"Aye, very few vermin instincts, Fren. That's what makes ye special; even when I saw ye as a babe I knew ye weren't cut from the same cloth as them varmints." Radd commented.

Fren continued. "I ran and ran, farther into Mossflower, till I was sure I would faint. I stopped in the dead of night, when I was certain my paws would drop off. I made myself a nest and fell asleep..." Fren contemplated over whether she should tell Log-a-Log about her dream, with the mouse warrior. But she decided that he would probably think of her as crazy. "Then I woke up and had breakfast, but then I was ambushed and I ran off and it led me here."

The she remembered the question she was going to ask. "Uhm, Log-a-Log, do you have any idea what this means: speed ye now to seat, the open blue.?"

Radd shook his head. "Ah, I never had a mind for riddles, fancy speech an' such. Sorry, Fren." he replied.

Fren was disappointed, but she hid it quickly. "That's all right, old chum. Thank you anyway."

Chapter Seven: Scourge of the Seas
The black ship Demise ploughed the endless heaving waters grimly, blood red sails billowed in the winds of the sea. About a hundred slaves sat strapped to oars, backs whipped sore and naked from the lash. The slavemaster, a burly ferret hardly out of his teen seasons, paced the bench aisles restlessly, whipping here and there.

The captain of the Demise stood watching his loyal slavemaster dealing out deathlashes to his wretched captives. He was a tall, tan-furred fox, clad in a plain jerkin and a black cape. A silken sash wound his waist, into which was thrust a cutlass and a mace-and chain. Captain Tjearo considered himself better than any of those lesser buffoon corsairs. He had enough skill, muscle, and tyranny to prove that. After all, he wasn't dubbed the "Scourge of the Seven Seas" for nothing.

Tjearo's bosun, a skinny rat named Nattod, came rushing to his side. "Cap'n, Saltpaw's spotted land. 'E sez 'e sees 'edgepigs dere, more slaves fer us!"

Tjearo swaggered to the bridge and called to Saltpaw, the weasel lookout, "Ahoy, Saltpaw, do ye really see land?"

Saltpaw's reply rang out from the crow's nest. "Aye, cap'n, a liddle island wid 'edgepigs an' huts an' such. Looks to me there may be vittles an' booty aplenty there,too!"

Tjearo's keen eyes caught the island soon enough; a lush tropical paradise on the turquoise waters. As the ship advanced, the fox captain took in more detail; a white sandy beach, with little hogbabes playing by the shores under their parent's watch. They would see the ship if they got any closer, the last thing they needed if they were to ambush...Tjearo had an idea.

He turned to two of his strongest crewbeasts. "Gulch, Crableg, drop the anchor an' ready the lifeboats. Call two more of yer mates an' tell 'em to furl the sails." he ordered them.

The stoats Gulch and Crableg nodded and rant to drop the anchor. Gulch signaled to two more crewbeasts, Kelpy the ferret and Redbrush the fox, and told them to furl the sails; captain's orders. Tjearo grinned wickedly as he padded to the ferret slaver.

"Zabgev, stop whippin' 'em first." he told him. "Tell those wretches to rest awhile, an' call the cook to give 'em their meal."

Zabgev the ferret slaver nodded obediently and dashed to the galley to fetch the cook. When a large, fat, greasy weasel hauling a cold porridge-filled cauldron, Tjearo lost interest. He began to shout orders across the deck.

"Find the best archers we have, an' tell 'em to git out some fire arrows! Somebeasts will a've to get onboard the lifeboats an' ambush that island. Kill who you wish, but leave some of 'em alive; we're going to need more slaves!"

Within a few minutes, about onescore archers arrived with their arrowheads wrapped in oil-soaked rags. Nattod was with them, holding a lighted torch. One rank of archers lit their arrowheads with the torch, then climbed onboard one of the lifeboats. As they paddled closer to the island, they let fire, aiming for the huts.

WhizzzzzzzTHUNK

A hut was struck by three fire-arrows and flames began to lick the flimsy construction. Two hedgehogs ran out screaming, one of them with her headspikes smoldering. There was an eerie crackling noise as the burning hut crumbled into a heap of ashes and burnt-out twigs.

The other huts were also lit, turning the shore village into a massive inferno. Hedgehogs tried dousing the flames with seawater, but as more volleys of flaming shafts rained down upon the huts smoke billowed everywhere. Coughing and tearing, the hedgehogs soon abandoned their laborious task.

Twoscore corsairs then leaped out of their lifeboats and charged across the shore. Waving weapons and screeching warcries they turned the scene into a massacre. Slain hedgehogs were strewn here and there, blood staining the sands. Survivors were lashed together and beaten with sword flats as they were hauled onto the lifeboats. Captain Tjearo had dealt death to yet another island.

Chapter Eight: Unwelcome Memories
''Piercing screams emanated from a tent in the camp. Vherdan knew that his second child was coming, but like most vermin he cared about the new arrival as much as a mole cares for heights. In fact, when he found out that his mate was expecting another babe, he sold his firstborn to a corsair stoat, wanting to get as much off his back as he could.''

''As the screeches got more and more anguished, the ferret Warlord could stand it no longer. He shook his head, as if to clear it of the terrible noises. Only when the cries got weaker and weaker did he dare enter the tent.''

''His mate, Yila, lay in a bloodied nest of moss and grass, her eyes closed. A weaselnurse knelt beside the nest, cradling a cloth-wrapped bundle in her arms. Yila was panting exhaustedly, barely recovering from her ordeal. The weasel looked up at her leader with solemn dark eyes. "It's a daughter."''

''Vherdan crouched down and observed his mate with disgust. She opened her eyes a slit, then let out a ragged, gasping breath. Then her whole body shuddered and was still.''

''Vherdan glanced at the bundle in the weasel's arms. "She is of your concern now." he growled.''

Vherdan awoke from his dream. Sicra was crouched in front of him. "Didst thou sleep well?" she inquired, not expecting an answer. "Thy horde is ready to march, Milord."

Vherdan sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Aye, I'm ready." he yawned. His sudden flashback had triggered something inside him--a tiny sadness, long forgotten, but it was over as soon as it had come. He stood up and dusted himself off.

The horde marched for hours afterwards. Vherdan led it with his usual grim expression, with Werj and Sicra at his side. Werj turned to him.

"We're visitin' Tjearo, Lord?" he asked. "I wuz thinkin' of dat scoundrel ye sold yer first brat to."

Vherdan growled. "Do not speak to me of my whelps, Werj."

''Seagulls wheeled and cawed overhead. The air smelled of salt and the waves pounded the shore perpetually.''

''Two male ferrets, one adult and one child, paced across the shore. The older ferret had the younger one's arm in a tight grip, claws sheathed. The younger one had been crying and pleading with his father since that morning, but to no avail. He remained dangling from the adult's paw with tears trickling from his eyes.''

''Finally the elder stopped. He kicked his sniffling son. "Ah, quit yer whinin'. Doncha know it's botherin' me?" he snarled.''

''The two ferrets watched silently as a lone figure made its way toward them. It was a stoat, small and scrawny clad in a black jerkin. He was carrying a hack dagger and tattoos wound his face like snakes. He halted in front of father and son, surveying the youngster with a malicious glint in his amber eyes.''

''He glanced up at the father. "He be a fine young'un, Vherdan." he said in a voice that sounded like a blade against glass. "Are ye shore ye want to do this?"''

Vherdan ignored his son's cries as he replied, "Aye, this un be nought but trouble. Do what you must with him, I hear you take in recruits for yer crew. I'm sure he'll be a fine addition to it."

''The stoat rubbed his bristly goatee in thought. "He does look up to it. C'mere, son, lemme see ya close-up."''

''Vherdan let his son go and nudged him in the stoat's direction. He cautiously padded up to the stoat, but the minute he stepped within paw's reach the stoat grabbed his shoulder in a vicelike grip.''

''"Ye belong wit me now, son." he snickered. "I'm shore ye'll make a fine ould crewmate, doncher think? Ha!"''

''And as the stoat continued to drag the young ferret off, he turned around and shot his father a look. A scalding look full of pure hatred.''

''Vherdan did not wither to this look. He continued to watch his firstborn being carried off, until the two figures disappeared over the sand dunes. He wasn't nicknamed 'Merciless' for nothing.''

Tjearo's crewbeasts hauled the groaning and battered hedgehogs onto the Demise, one by one. Their paws were tied tightly behind their backs, and a long rope wound around their waists, forming a train. Tjearo looked them up and down, for a brief moment, then ordered Gulch and Crableg to strap each o them to separate oars. Zabgev rose from his seat on the deck and began dealing whiplashes to the newcomers with a bored expression on his face.

One of the hedgehogs, a young male, nudged the brawny squirrel seated next to him. The squirrel turned his tired eyes on the hedgehog.

"Have you been here long?" the hedgehog asked.

The squirrel nodded and sighed. "I've been in this helltub fer seasons now." he said sadly. "Me island was set aflame like yours just was, an' the scurvy curs slaughtered me tribe." he brushed a tear from his eye with his tail. "'Tis only me an' me pore cousin left, y'see. M'name's Falden, by the way. Wot be yours?"

The young hog replied, "Spickle, an' the maid ye see in front is my sister Rosemary. My brother, Brindle, is somewhere in the back. I think we be the only ones left, an' soon..." he trailed off.

"An' soon, we may not even be around anymore either, then our tribe will be extinct. Has that ever happened here? Slaves dying, I mean?"

Falden nodded gravely. "Aye mate, countless times. When ole Zabgev sees ye either dead or dyin', or even if yer just very tired, he'll unchain ye an' sling ye overboard, with stones tied to yer back to make sure ye go down properly." he ground his teeth. "An' of course ye can't stop it. There's no escapin'."

Suddenly Zabgev swaggered over to their bench. "Oy, no chitchattin'; row, yer lily-livered slime!"

''Swish! Crack!''

The ferret slavemaster dealt Spickle and Faldin two whiplashes apiece. The hog and the squirrel groaned, but Zabgev ignored them and continued pacing the aisles, whipping and shouting at the slaves.

Faldin's features twisted into an agonized scowl. "That scum, if only I could get me paws on 'im..."

Spickle silenced him "Don't speak, mate, or he'll whip us again. I'll think of something, just wait."

Chapter Nine
After Fren told Log-a-Log Radd about the prophecy, the shrew seemed to know what she was talking about. As he took a swig of grog, he explained,

"Wot ye need, young'un, is a logboat ride. I know a good route through Mossflow'r. But..." he paused. "That line, the dreaded Dark, scourge of the seven... Are ye sure that's what you were told?"

Fren nodded. She recalled exactly what the mouse warrior had said. "Yes, Log-a-Log, that's what I heard." she said.

Log-a-Log had a grim expression on his face. "Well, it don't sound good, an' if it explains me fears, then yer on yer own." he gave the ferret an apologetic look. "Sorry, Fren."

Fren felt downcast, but at that moment Tyec bounded over and threw a salute to his father. He smiled at the young ferret. "Logboats are ready, pop." he declared.

Log-a-Log sauntered up to his son. "All right, now I want ye to escort young Fren here to one of the 'ead crafts. We need 'er to see the country an' get used to it, cos she's got a quest to complete, an' we'll do our best to elp 'er." he explained.

Tyec led Fren onto the jetty and into the head craft. Her designated area was padded with cushions and towels, and a little shrewmaid offered her a drink. Flattered, Fren accepted and sat back as the crafts were pushed into the main course of the stream.

Talu, who was seated at the bow with an equally shifty-looking male shrew, shot her a look full of scorn and distrust. Fren wasn't at all surprised with this look; she was a vermin, and it was difficult to take to one.

Fren managed to smile as she watched the little shrewbabes frolicking inside the boats. Some were leaning over the edges and asking their mothers what creatures lurked beneath the surface, and their mothers pulled them back, saying that they would not want to know. It was during one of these instances when it happened.

A little male shrewbabe was tottering perilously on the edge, paws flapping. "Lookee mumee, I'm flyin--"

His mother lunged for her babe, but she was too slow. The shrewbabe slipped and plunged headfirst into the current. The Guosim on the same boat attempted to leap overboard to the rescue, but they froze when they caught sight of a dark shadow underwater.

"Pike!" somebody cried. The little shrewbabe was being tugged under by weeds, flailing his arms and crying. The mother kicked the shrew nearest to the edge. "Don't just stand there gawking, do something!" she screamed.

Fren was faster than the shrew. Grabbing a loose rapier, she dove into the stream and landed directly on the pike's head. The fish thrashed and protested, tugging the young ferret deeper underwater. Holding her breath, Fren jabbed blindly, not seeing where the hits landed. The pike retaliated, grabbing her leg in its strong jaws. She kicked desperately with her other leg, clouds of scarlet billowing in the water.

She unwound her sling from her waist and wrapped tightly it around the pike's jaw. She surfaced quickly and lifted the babe, who was beginning to tire out. She held him to his mother, and she took her son immediately.

This only took a second, but it was a second too long. The pike had wrenched free of Fren's sling and batted her legs with its snout. Fren started hacking again with the rapier, aiming for the top of the head. The fish was finally starting to weaken, but with a jerk of its head it sank its fangs further into her leg. In one last desperate effort Fren plunged the rapier deep into the pike's skull. Its jaws were still clamped over her leg, even in death, and as its body sank it dragged the young ferret with it. The shrews stared in awe at the spot where the pair had vanished, where a cloud of red remained.

Litheo the Rogue Wanderer slinked through the bushes like a silent shadow. The tall ferret had always been a loner by heart, shunning vermin hordes and corsairs that gave him handsome offers to join in their ranks. Litheo was a skilled fighter, lithe and sinewy, but rather young. His amber gaze constantly traveled across the landscape he was viewing. A good kill was all he needed right now.

He spotted one, eventually. A fat dove with gray and brown streaked plumage, almost hidden amidst the long grass, was busy pulling a worm out from the ground. Litheo took careful aim with his knife, tip in claws. Then with a single flick of his paw the knife whizzed through the air and buried itself in the bird's heart.

Litheo shuffled over to his prey and plucked the knife from the bird's flesh. He lifted it by its feet and carried it towards a shady spot beneath a large three-topped oak. Brushing a bunch of dried twigs together, he grabbed his knife and tilted the blade towards the sun, concentrating its rays onto the pile.

As the twigs began to smolder, Litheo looked up and catiously glanced over his shoulder. He could detect rustling.

Movement. In the treetops. He lifted his nose and started sniffing the air. He could faintly detect the scent of a woodlander, presumably a squirrel, near the tops of the oak he had made camp under.

Litheo slowly began to roast the dove over the growing fire. But he kept all his senses alert, for he could not shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen.

High up in the treetops, a fat squirrel crouched between two boughs. She hefted a long javelin over her shoulder, keeping a suspicious eye on the vermin who was roasting a dove over a makeshift fire. She noticed that there had been plenty of vermin abound lately. The day before she had surprised a young female ferret who was relaxing near the stream in her territiory. Now there was this older male ferret, hunting and killing before her very eyes. She curled her paw tighter around the javelin handle. Narrowing her eyes, she judged the distance from her tree to the vermin.

Chapter Ten
Traf sat on a stone near the pond, a strawberry cream scone in one paw and a beaker of dandelion and burdock cordial in the other. The scone had long lost its steam and the satisfying fresh-from-the-oven feel. In truth, the young squirrel wasn't hungry at all. He was hunched over, barely even concious of the foodstuff in his paws.

He watched his friend Rushrenn playing with the Dibbuns by the side of the Abbey pond. Once his sister Kaira had plunged in, while shouting, "I a h'otter, Mista Rushen!"

The brawny young otter immediately dove in after the squirrelbabe. He surfaced with her clinging to his shoulders. As he lolloped onto the shore Kaira slid off Rushrenn's back. She clapped her tiny paws in glee. "Wee, lets go agin, Mista Rush!"

Rushrenn shook himself like a dog, splattering anyone near him with drops. "Not on yer life, missy!"

Even though Traf was one of the creatures splattered by Rushrenn, he did not feel it at all. He closed his eyes and fell into a dreamlike trance. A supernatural-sounding voice echoed in his skull.

Across the heaving eastern deeps,

The vermin maiden will come

Across the plains the mass will sweep

Bringing a hundred to one

Seek the vermin maiden,

My sword she will wield for me

Traf snapped back into reality as soon as he had slipped out of it. "Vermin...mass..." he stammered half-consciously.

Rushrenn sped to his friend's side. "Vermin? What are ye talkin' 'bout, matey?"

Traf looked at Rushrenn with a grim expression on his face. "The vermin maiden! We have to find her!"

Tyec and Diplo leaned over the edge of the boat, staring at the spot where Fren had sunk with the pike. "Fren! Ahoy, Fren!" Tyec yelled. "You still alive, mate?"

Diplo tweaked his friend's ear. "Don't be daft mate, did ye see the size of that thing? She's done for!"

A sleek shadow appeared just below the surface, with a smaller silhouette seemingly attached to it. Suddenly a brown furry head broke the surface, an otter who wielded a longbow and had a quiver of scarlet-fletched arrows strapped to his back. He lifted his right paw, which had a female ferret about thirteen winters old by the scruff. "Ahoy, Guosim, wot were ye doin' wit this vermin aboard?"

Log-a-Log Radd practically skipped towards the edge of the logboat. "Skipper Jukan, ye old rudderbanger! I ain't clapped eyes on ye fer seasons!" he greeted the burly newcomer.

Jukan heaved Fren onboard the logboat. "Greetings to ye, Log-a-Log! Last I checked, ye weren't takin' ferrets into yer crew!"

Log-a-Log rolled the half-drowned ferret onto her back, then leaned forward and began pressing on her chest to pump the water out. Fren coughed and spluttered, taking the water out of her lungs. She slowly opened her eyes, examined her bleeding ankle, then feebly looked around her. "W-Who are you?" she warily asked Jukan.

Jukan was astonished. "She don't sound like no normal vermin to me!" he exclaimed.

Log-a-Log replied as a young healer shrewmaid bandaged Fren's injured ankle. "Ah, that's cause she is no normal vermin. Martin spoke to 'er, she sez. 'Er name's Fren Kozdru, wot we see 'ere is somethin' special."

Jukan narrowed his eyes at the ferret. "Kozdru? Be she related to a Vherdan Kozdru?!" he said. "The scum!"

"Don't shake her, she nearly got herself killed. And if'n ye please, Mister Jukan, we Guosim 'ave to make it to the shore. See ye sometime, ole matey." Radd picked up a paddle and gestured to his tribe to start rowing again. But before the rest of the shrews could start paddling, Jukan grabbed Log-a-Log's paddle blade. "I'm a-comin' with ye, mate. The shores are where me mateys live. An' we need 'em."

So with Skipper Jukan of Redwall gliding underwater and the Guosim logboats skimming their way to the shoreline, Fren proceeded to the second part of her prophecized quest.

When the sun dipped over the horizon sending streaks of burgundy and apricot into the sky, Fren awoke groggily. She rose stiffly and glanced at her surroundings. She could taste the tang of salt in the air, the sounds of lone gulls squaking into the fading daylight. She understood immediately. They were near the shoreline.

Log-a-Log Radd had anchored the logboats by the estuary, shrewcooks taking out provisions and starting a cooking fire. Shrewmaids lifted their skirts and began to skip while singing an old Guosim song.

Where the streams do bend

Where the rivers end

That roguish band of shrews await

Always ready to face certain fate!

Logalog, Logalog, Logalogalog

That cry'll ring out across the bog

Logalog, Logalog, Logalogalog

Swigging ale and good ole grog

Shrews born for sailing

Sendin' them vermin wailing

Guosim, a timeless name

Guosim, of Mossflow'r fame

We'll continue to man the streams

With our leader,

Good ole LogaLoooooooog!

Fren hung around the clearing after the song had ended, watching the Guosim shrews laughing and applauding the singers, swigging grog and having small slinging contests. She unwound her own sling from her waist and began whirling it distractedly. A feeling of nausea had been nipping at her ever since she had woken up in the logboat and it refused to let go. Something was going to happen, nothing good, she could feel it.

Within the bushes surrounding the Guosim's makeshift camp, two silhouettes lurked. The corsair weasel and the mercenary otter took in the scene of banter and merriment before them. The corsair weasel slid his cutlass out of his sheath pointed the tip towards the shrews. "Scrapp, do ye see them liddle mousies a-playin' round dere?" he whispered to the otter.

Scrapp was not the otter's birthname. His tribe had been ambushed when he was around two winters old by corsairs, and he had been beaten and taken aboard a ship as a slave. It seemed that the young otter was the captain's pet. Every day for two more years or so he would call the slave into his cabin, question him of his loyalty and such, and whenever he would answer no the captain would order him beaten until bleeding or unconscious.

But then the captain had a plan. He ordered his loyal slavemaster to strip the otter of his chains, and started treating him as a part of the crew. In honor of the wounds and whipmarks inflicted upon him in the first few years as a slave, the captain had christened him Scrapp. Whenever the captain told him to eat, he ate. When he was old to kill, he killed. When he refused to follow orders, the whip was brought down upon his back a dozen times then doused with saltwater. Eventually, "Scrapp" got the idea that he was one of them. The corsairs.

Going back to the scene, the otter nodded slowly. He could not speak; no one had bothered to show him how. He whipped forth his weapons: two thief daggers whose tips were smeared with deadly poison. He was indeed a born killer, almost like a Taggerung himself.

"Well, do what ye do best."

Chapter Eleven
Thunk!

Startled, Litheo jumped to one side, the javelin lightly grazing his left knee. He glared up at the treetop where it had flown out of. "Oy, wot wuz dat for?"

The fat female squirrel hissed back at him, "Yer on the territory of Malida Barkspear, vermin! Begone afore I dispatch ye!"

A smaller, younger voice interrupted Malida. "Mal, don't waste your javelins. We only attack when needed."

Malida's paws trembled ever so slightly, the regret in her eyes mingling with fury. Finally she spat down to Litheo, "Fine. Get out of me sight."

Litheo retreated, glaring at the squirrel.

The small squirrel leaped in from the foliage. Landing next to Malida, she turned her deep brown eyes on the larger squirrel. "There is enough uncertainity abound in Mossflower these days without having anymore unneeded hostility," she chided Malida. "That vermin didn't look like he meant any harm."

Malida was quivering with rage. "He's a vermin, Chalsan! They are despicable, unpredictable beasts. It was vermin that destroyed Eveningblossom, don't you forget that."

Chalsan blinked back tears, the memory of that day many seasons ago burning itself into her mind. Houses destroyed, bodies strewn everywhere, fire devouring everything they had known of, their lives...

Chalsan shook her head, as if dismissing memories. "That was seasons ago. It's time to..." she hesitated. "...move on."

"Move on?!" Malida bared her teeth in a snarl. "Our home was destroyed, my brother slain, my son lost, and you expect me to move on? Vermin are vile. Vermin are disgusting. Vermin!"

Without another word Malida took off into the treetops. Chalsan sighed. Her friend seemed to have lost all traces of sanity ever since the destruction of Eveningblossom. She knew that Malida thirsted for war and revenge, completely unaware that violence wasn't the only answer. Or was it?...

***
Litheo slinked farther into the woods, stopping every now and then to glance at his surroundings in case any more woodlanders were hidden in the treetops, ready to surprise attack him. Stupid squirrel! He had meant to take a quick meal, and she interrupted him. The dove, which he had attatched to his belt, was still somewhat hot but Litheo had lost interest in food completely. Instead he wandered aimlessly around Mossflower Woods.

A faint rustling in the bushes caused him to halt, ears pricked. His paw moved to his knife handle and whipped it out, then called, "Oi, who's there?

The rustling continured. Litheo tippawed to where the sound was coming from and raised his knife. "If'n yew don't show yerself, I'm gonna make ye! Don't make me come in there!"

This time the rustling stopped and silence prevailed. But Litheo still had the feeling that he was being watched. Backing away slowly from where he heard the noise, he held his knife forth, ready for anything.

A black paw reached out from the bushes behind Litheo, and grabbed hold of the feet of the dead dove. When Litheo whipped around, the paw had vanished, along with his would-have-been lunch.

The ferret wanderer was furious. "'Ey! Who's makin' off with me tucker, huh? State yer name an' gimme back me lunch!"

A voice replied cooly, "Your tucker, ye say? I thought ye had lost intr'st in it!"

Litheo stomped a paw down angrily. "I ain't one to give up me vittles! Give it back, whoever ye are!"

"Up here, ninny!"

Litheo looked up at the treetops, and his mouth dropped open in surprise.

Perched between two boughs was another ferret, with snow-white fur and black paws, a black mask, and a black-tipped tail. He was clad in a mustard-colored tunic with a belt, into which a mace was thrust. He was waving around the very dove that Litheo had caught. "If'n ye want yer tucker, come up 'ere and get it!"

Litheo plucked a rock from the ground and tossed it at the other ferret, who dodged it nimbly and scrambled higher into the tree. "You gotta try harder than that! Teehee!"

Litheo gave a sigh of resignation. "Fine, ye can take the stupid dove." he hissed. "Who are ye anyways?"

The other ferret snffed the dove delicately. "Me name's Kylterin, but me friends call me Kyle." he paused, then chuckled. "Well, if'n I had any friends, that is."

Kyle leaned back and started nibbling on the dove. "If ye want some, I'll give ye some." he called down to Litheo.

Litheo sat down on a rock. To be honest, he was getting quite peckish. But he didn't want to ask this little imp who had stolen his lunch. Thunk!

Litheo looked down in surprise to see that Kyle had dropped the remaining dove down to him. There was still some meat clinging to the bones, though all the feathers had been plucked off.

Kyle clambered down from the tree. "Just thought I'd share the tucker with ye." he said. "Ye caught it first, and besides, ye must be hungry."

Litheo was shocked at this other ferret's generosity, but he thanked him anyway and began to eat. After he had finished, he picked himself up, dusted his tunic off, then turned on his heel and walked further.

Kyle ran after him. "Wait! I wanna come with ye!" he shouted.

Litheo stopped and turned around. He scrunitized the younger ferret with narrowed eyes, then groaned, "Why in the name of fangs would I want to have some bumbling liddle rip fer a travellin' companion? Wot makes ye think ye'd be of any use, eh?"

Kyle toyed around with his mace. "Well, a number of things could 'appen. Ye could get swallowed by a swamp, chased down by a swarm of wasps, get captured by a tribe of Darrats...I've been around so I knows a little about every place."

Litheo curled his lip scornfully. "I've been roamin' across the land since ye were takin' milk from yer mommy, ye liddle twerp! I don't need no stinkin' 'elp. I've got enough wits 'bout me, I can keep meself alive."

Kyle snorted. "I'm not much younger than ye, ye know." he scoffed, still playing with the mace. "And b'sides, doncha think we'd make a great team? With yer wits and my thieving skills, we could be the most feared vermin pair in the whole o' Mossflower! What d'ye say?"

Litheo covered his face with a paw. "Oh, alright." he muttered from between his claws. "As long as ye don't steal any more of me stuff, we can be companions. Deal?"

Kyle grabbed Litheo's paw and shook it. The older ferret winced. "Deal!"

And so the two ferrets wandered off into Mossflower Woods, with Kyle chipping in a conversation every now and then.

"Hey Litheo, now that we're friends, can I call ye Lith?"

"No."

"Hm, how 'bout Lithy the Travelin' Beastie?"

"That sounds even worse than the first. No."

"Wot bout Lithers?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"NO!!! Now stick some porridge in it, ye liddle twerp!"

Chapter Twelve

Bloomnyn and Brother Whicke stood silently on the ramparts of Redwall Abbey, gazing out across the expanse of Mossflower Woods and into the sunset. The sky streaked shades of peach and burgundy, like an expert artist had touched up the paintbrush strokes on his canvas. Evening songbirds began to warble their hymns of praise to the blessings of the day, the breeze tickled the treetops and whispered its rumors to all. It was quite the perfect twilight, but even this couldn't shake the air of apprehension that had been lingering about the Abbey ever since Traf and Rushrenn had vanished...again.

Bloomnyn sighed and took a sip of her mint tea, which felt cold and tasteless on her tongue. The young mouse Recorder rested her chin on her paw and continued to gaze out into the sky. "Whicke, what could have been their reason to run away a second time? Surely we cannot be harsh enough for them to take mind to leave?" she fretted.

The reserved shrew brother shook his head, his deep eyes reflecting mixed emotions. "Although those two young'ins can be nuisances at times, and not to mention rebellious, something important must have driven them to take leave." he paused momentarily to blow on the oven-fresh scone in his paw. Steam wreathed his small, thin face, so he waved a paw about his snout to banish it. "Perhaps to chase the Merciless away, but I doubt they would be foolish enough for such a task. Martin's sword is missing, perhaps that could be a piece to this puzzle?"

Bloomnyn's eyes widened, her ears perked up. "The Sword of Martin has gone missing?"

Which nodded, as if this didn't surprise him in the least. "Those young'ins must have taken it with them. But this still doesn't answer the question: what for?"

With evil abound, what else would they need a sword for? Without hesitation, Bloomnyn rose and headed down the battlement stairs. Whicke was right; Rushrenn and Traf were most likely out for trouble.